


Coup d'Etat

by disregard30



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: M/M, Yaoi, kpop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:37:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1490257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disregard30/pseuds/disregard30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t breathe.<br/>He chokes.<br/>He chokes.<br/>Water in his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth.<br/>In his lungs.<br/>In a fuzzy blur, he thinks he can recognize Seungri’s voice screaming his name, somewhere in the distance.<br/>Is this the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coup d'Etat

All over the globe, people are going on with their daily routine, unknowing that in a world living in relative democracy, a threat lays hidden.  
Kim Jong-un, rightful ruler of North Korea, plots.  
His threats to launch a preemptive nuclear strike against the United States are dismissed.  
U.S. National Intelligence Director James Clapper speculates that Kim Jong-un is trying to assert his control over North Korea, and has no endgame other than gaining recognition; analysts and other U.S. officials echo similar sentiments.   
In the meanwhile, Rana Kamran Khan, a Pakistani nuclear scientist and a metallurgical engineer, former member of the Khan Research Laboratories, is gone missing.  
Shortly after, North Korea tests its first inter-continental ballistic missile.   
On Chicago.  
Before the USA, the world’s biggest force, even recovers from the surprise attack, North Korea strikes the American ground again, this time targeting New York.  
At the same time, missiles hit Tokyo, Jerusalem and Berlin, declaring war with Japan, Israel and Germany.  
The blast in Manchester wipes out Yorkshire Dales and Sheffiels.  
France surrenders.  
“The world is mine” Kim Jong-un tells his child, a three years old kid looking up at him. “You’ll see what I’ll make of it.”

-15 years later-

He can’t breathe.  
He chokes.  
He chokes.  
Water in his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth.  
In his lungs.  
In a fuzzy blur, he thinks he can recognize Seungri’s voice screaming his name, somewhere in the distance.  
Is this the end?  
Rewind.  
He walks the streets, smells the stale air, looks at the bodies littering the floor.  
His steps are steady, his heart rate regular, his eyes are of steal.  
He feels his companion’s eyes on him, calculating, boring into his soul as if trying to see.  
“I see that you know how to do your job, general.”  
The other smirks.  
“Does this displease you, Jiyong?”  
He smiles.  
“Why would it?” he asks. “The resistance must be shut down, no matter the price.”  
No, Rewind further back.  
His mother is bathing.  
In her own pool of blood.  
Her eyes are open, unseeing.  
He wants to cry.  
He can’t.  
He wants to sob, clutch her hands, say mom wake up wake up we have to go we have to run you can’t leave me alo-  
He won’t.  
They have to move, fast.  
The body will stay there, unburied, no different than trash.  
No different than the bodies surrounding it.  
“Kid.”  
Someone is shaking his shoulder, tearing his eyes from the sight.  
“Kid. Let’s go.”  
Yang Suk is looking at him with careful eyes, as caring as anyone allows themselves to be.  
“Come on.”  
He moves.  
He won’t grieve.  
He’ll get revenge.  
“Kid!”  
He looks up to see that Yank Suk has gotten farther, realizes that he has only taken two steps before looking back to the body.  
Why is this so hard?  
He’s used to this. Death.  
Why is this so fucking hard?  
“You better move if you don’t want to be left behind.”  
His hands are shaking now.  
There’s foreign moisture on his cheek.  
He’s thirteen, for God’ sake. He’s no infant.  
A single raw scream, distorted by the wind, shakes him from his daze.  
“Jiyong!”  
And this time the tone is insistent, a single last warning that says he won’t wait for him.  
He moves his right leg first, orders the other to follow.  
Steady steps, a run.  
He-  
Wait, no. No. Not this far back, damnit.  
Fast-forward.  
To kill is to survive.  
That’s what Jiyong tells the kid.  
“Now you’re a man” he says.  
Seungri smiles, bitter.  
“Does it ever change, though? This feeling, does it change, hyung?”  
Jiyong sighs.  
“What feeling?”  
Because he can’t remember what it felt like, the first, the second, the third time he took a life.  
“The guilt.” Seungri says. “The hurt.”  
These seem like foreign words so Jiyong nods.  
“Satisfaction” he says. “You’ll see.”  
They set out hideout in an abandoned warehouse, a few hundred miles from what the new regime calls New Seoul.  
There is a hidden hatch that goes underground, large enough to hold hundreds of them. Refugees, rebels…a little community of brave woman and scared men who don’t bear to be enslaved.  
It’s his turn at duty guard, and the kid, Seungri, doesn’t seem inclined to leave his side, even now.  
He shouldn’t have saved the kid’s life, he figures. Now he’s stuck with a useless brat who still has enough innocence to idolize him.  
“You should go have some rest” he tells him.  
Seungri shakes his head.  
“I’ll stay by your side, hyung. My debt is to protect you.”  
The kid follows him everywhere.  
The kid smiles often, laughs sometimes, and Jiyong wonders how he can.  
He wonders about his story, his tragedy, because he must have one.  
Everyone does after all.  
Ever since the war ended, there isn’t a single family, a single soul that has been left unharmed.  
The new regime is setting what would be called a first in the history of the world, a mass massacre to everyone refusing to be branded.  
Families are burnt at the stake, men are executed, children are raped, and pregnant women are boiled.  
No discrimination.  
No pity.  
Kim Jong-un, formal Supreme Ruler of North Korea and current self proclaimed Supreme Ruler of the world, wants the world to fall into step with his vision, what he used to apply only in North Korea.  
Libraries are destroyed, books burnt.  
Thinking is outlawed.  
No freedom of expression.   
You can’t wear what you want, study what you want, live where you want.  
The world is changing, being shaped at his wishes, and they are the first generation.   
Killing the unwilling, the New Government spokesman states, is a necessity. Those who surrender to the new ways will not be harmed. Those who don’t will be made an example.  
You fight violence with violence, his mom once told him. And diligently, he repeated the words to Seungri.  
“Aish. Leave me alone.” He says, because all this thinking is giving him a headache.   
Seungri opens his mouth to answer, but doesn’t.  
He sighs.  
“Okay, hyung.”  
And leaves, a kicked puppy.  
The kid is like that with Jiyong, obedient.  
The kid doesn’t even like being called a kid, but lets Jiyong call him whatever he wants, even though he’s seventeen and Jiyong is merely two years older.  
The kid is probably in love with him.  
The kid is an idiot, if he thinks there is place for love in these god forsaken times.  
He hears movement from behind him, and freezes.  
One_Two_Thr-  
His dagger is at her throat, before she can utter a word.  
“Ugh” she chokes. “GD!”  
He lets her go, nods.  
“Cl.”  
The girl glares as she touches her neck.  
“Easy there, soldier.” She says.  
He shrugs, doesn’t bother apologizing. After all, she startled him.  
“Your reflexes are getting better.”  
He shrugs again, sits back on the hard floor as she joins him.  
“What do you want?” he asks, straight to the point.  
Chaerin snorts, in that unbecoming way of hers.  
She pushes a greasy strand from her face, revealing catlike eyes.  
“Pretty”, Jiyong would have thought if they’d lived in other times.  
They don’t, so he just sneers at her.  
“What?”  
“Getting short on supplies. Yang Suk says some of us have to go the city. Yongbae and Psy are going.”  
Yongbae is Jiyong’s best friend.  
He doesn’t know him, not really, had only exchanged few words with him, but Yongbae always tells him “You’re my best friend” and Jiyong always shrugs.  
Psy is a strange character. He’s one of those crazy ones. No one knows his story, nor his real name. The rumors go something like this: He watched his wife and daughter get raped then burned alive. He got crazy (thus the name). End of.  
Jiyong doesn’t know if it’s true but steers away from him anyway.  
“I’m coming with.” Jiyong decides.  
“You sure?” Chaerin asks. “Security is tight. The resistance within the city has been mostly shut down.”  
They call themselves The Resistance Movement.  
A fairly cliché name, he’ll admit, but he’ll be damned if he cares. They’re the last ones standing, few of hundred survivals who found each other.  
Fighting a lost war, it seems.  
It doesn’t matter.  
None of it does  
“I’ll go” he says. “Tell Yank Suk.”  
-  
Walking the streets of the city feels strangely nostalgic.  
He can recognize some places, thinks “I used to play here” or “we used to shop here”.  
He walks with steady steps, flanked by Yongbae, Psy and Seungri, who wouldn’t be left behind.  
“If Jiyong hyung goes, I go.” He’d stated.  
Like a child, he pulled a tantrum, till Yank Suk told him “Go if you must”, to Jiyong’s annoyance.  
The four of them made sure to brand themselves with fake ink for the mission.  
To be branded is to be a slave, his mom used to tell him when this whole thing was just starting.  
Her words ring true to his ears as he watches the people walking the streets, tries to walk like them. Even their steps seem unnatural, the way they walk stiff, their heads bowed, looking straight ahead, like cattle lost without a shepherd, the branding on their foreheads glistening under the hard sun.  
The branding is a simple circle, right in the middle of their foreheads, carved in black.  
Their faces blank, emotionless.  
Jiyong feels his skin itch under the ink, wants to wipe at it, can’t stand the meaning the symbol holds.  
\---  
If Jiyong has learned something in his life, it’s that when things go downhill, they go downhill fast.  
And so the rule applies.  
One minute he’s gripping the purchases, walking rigid.  
The next, he’s gripping Seungri’s hand, running like his life depended on it.  
Which, granted, it does.  
Their pursuers are gaining ground, he can hear their boots hitting the floor, right behind them, right behind them.  
Seungri is slowing him down, tripping every now and then.  
Daft kid.  
Jiyong should let go of his hand.  
He doesn’t.  
He doesn’t know where Yongbae and Psy are, if they’d been shot, injured, captured…  
Survival instinct is kicking in, his blood running cold in his veins, adrenalin pumping up.  
Seungri falls.  
He turns to get him but-  
“RUN!”  
He never listens to what Seungri says. This time, though-  
He runs.  
He hears a scream behind him but doesn’t stop, feels the shame burn through his eyelids, in the pit of his stomach. His mind says Run, his mind says Go back.  
His mind says Coward.  
Still, he runs.  
His legs feel like dead weight and his lungs are burning , on fire.  
Still, he runs.  
When he stops, he’s out of breath, sweating like a pig, his heart hammering a chaotic mantra, his mind reeling.  
Did he lose them?  
He did.  
Did he lose Seungri?  
He did.  
\---  
He can’t go back to the hideout, this much he knows.  
They didn’t do anything suspicious, so being found out means they were on the lookout for them. Maybe they even knew they were coming…A spy?  
He always thought that guy looked too innocent to be everything he said he was. What was his name again? Kang Seung Yoon.  
Or maybe it was that silent brooding bulk of a fellow who goes by Kush.  
It doesn’t matter, he can’t know for sure.  
All that matters is that now he’s stuck in the city. He can’t go back.  
He might even be followed…  
He won’t take the risk.  
Somehow, his wild run lead him to a shady back alley, in what he recognizes as Seoul’s Guryong slum.  
Guryong is near to the ever expanding Gangnam skyline. However, unless you’re looking for it, you’d never stumble upon Guryong; its estranged location and solid metal barrier make it practically invisible to the eyes of a passerby.  
Just as well, here is as safe as he can hope to be.  
For now.  
He takes a moment to stare at his surroundings, the desolate state of the shanties, some of them wooden, the stench of poverty in the air.  
What about the new reform? What of it?  
The ruling political party, Worker’s Party of Korea (WPK), claimed the branding movement will help improve the underdog’s lives. That’s how it started even.  
For the interest of all.  
He snorts.  
He has no delusions. He knows the people he’ll meet here will be branded.  
They were the first to get branded, even. They chose the possibility of a better life, even at the price of their integrity.  
And now, here it is. Nothing changed.  
Or maybe it did work out for them after all. If they’re branded, they’re not allowed to have opinions. If they don’t, they can’t think, can’t rebel, can only take this life as the only possible one there is for them.  
They were the forgotten and ironically, now they forgot as well.  
Jiyong would rather die.  
He probably will.  
He takes a breath, then two.  
Seungri-  
He has to find a shelter.  
Is he branded now?  
He has to find a way out. Staying here…he can’t, he’ll be found out. Even if he tries acting the part, his eyes hold too much defiance, his expressions not well trained to look submissive. Besides, while the circle on his forehead is not sloppy work, it won’t fool the right people.  
No, the kid is too stubborn. He’d never let them. But, does that mean that he’s-  
He picks a shard of glass, looks at his discarded reflection. The fake mark still looks believable, he should test it, walk around, meet people, see if it stirs suspicion.  
-dead now?  
A jolt of pain, almost foreign because it’s been a while since he’s allowed a loss to affect him.  
It doesn’t matter.  
It doesn’t.  
It doesn’t.  
-  
Jiyong imagines it would be something similar to this, in zombie Land.  
He lifts his right leg, takes a step.  
Then another.  
Walks in a straight line, sometimes crossing paths with individuals.  
At first, he’s too nervous to chance a glance, keeps his head, like theirs, bowed.  
But then realizes it’s futile; they aren’t even looking at him.  
There are unspoken rules for those who live down the Slum: don't notice anything, don't care about anything, and don't tell anyone anything.   
It’s the other ones he should be careful around, the ones not branded, not because they refuse to be, but because they are allowed favored treatment. They work for the government and as such, have the right to keep their freedom.  
That’s the tricky part, something Yang Suk always warned him about. As easy as it is for the resistance members to fake the branding, it is that much easier for the government’s spies to do so.  
But Jiyong can’t imagine any such individuals wandering the streets of the slum area, so.  
He looks, furtively at first, then downright watches.  
Right in front of him, three children are sitting on the ground, forming a circle.  
Two boys and a girl.  
The girl is beautiful, he can tell, even if her long hair looks dirty and her clothes well worn.  
One of the boys has a scar over his right eye, right next to the mark.  
And-  
Nothing.  
They’re just sitting. They’re not talking, not laughing.  
Not playing.  
He keeps staring till the girl lifts her eyes, stares right at his.  
A surge of fear grabs him before a more oppressive surge of desolation takes over, because she’s looking right through him, her eyes glossy, as if she can’t see him, or won’t, or doesn’t know how to, or doesn’t know what she’s looking at, or…  
…is not looking at all.  
God.  
He can’t take the sight so looks away.  
An old woman is using a cane, her eyes trained on the ground, a bag of whatever in her hands.  
A man is using an old rusty bicycle, eyes set on the path in front of him.  
No one is talking.  
The only noise he can hear is one of some workers building something nearby, their actions mechanical.  
Suddenly, he feels eyes on him.  
The feeling is fleeting, but years of being constantly on guard taught him to trust his instincts.  
He turns, and finds a man behind him.  
Not looking at him.  
The man is wearing torn jeans and a very dirty shirt, and looks in his early thirties.  
His hair is on the longer side, his skin looks fair.  
He is branded.  
Jiyong stares at him for a long time, defiantly, but the man doesn’t meet his eyes, not once.  
He just stands there, looking at the ground.  
Having grown bored of watching him, Jiyong decides he’s harmless.  
Just another branded well trained puppet.   
He feels the fatigue, deep in his bones. His body is weary, his mind even more so.  
Besides, darkness is falling.  
He walks, head carefully bowed, steps slow. With no destination.  
He should set out a plan.  
He should rest, first.  
He looks around, spies a rusted bench.  
This bed is as good as any, he decides.  
He lays on it, uncomfortable, uncaring.  
He’s going to have to fix his branding. If he leaves it like this, he’ll get busted in no time.  
He doesn’t have any contacts in the city. If only he did, maybe he’d get someone to tattoo the circle on his forehead.  
He tries to recall some of the stories Tablo used to tell, back at the camp. About undercover agents from the Resistance movement carving their own marks using fire and knives, scalding the circle on their own flesh.  
He’d try it, he would.  
Except he’s not sure he could trace a perfect circle with a knife.  
Besides, Tablo’s stories always mentioned a lot of blood, a lot of pain, and some fainting.  
He would rather not, thank you.  
Yet, maybe he won’t have a choice. Because the alternative would be getting caught. Then, death, if he’s lucky. Or, if he’s not, being imprisoned, tortured into an inch of insanity, then marked with the real thing, the circle carved into his forehead, the ultimate mark of submission, of enslavement.  
These thoughts, more than anything, frighten him.   
Anger him.  
He’ll find a solution, tomorrow.  
Tomorrow…But for now, he’ll… just…sleep.  
\---  
She is beautiful. Warm.  
She is not old.  
She is full of life.  
Her hair, long, plays with the breeze.  
She reminds him of the sea, the way she comes dancing towards him, and just when she’s almost close enough to touch…she rushes away again. Fades away like the last rays of sun, the last specks of hope.  
And in a blink, a heartbeat, she reappears.  
She is beautiful. Cold.  
She is not young.  
She is dead.  
Her eyes, open, cry red.  
He screams but he’s voiceless.  
Mom, he cries, but only in his head.  
He reaches for her body, feels the tip of his fingers brush the fabric.  
He’s almost there, can almost embrace her…He feels a prickle at the back of his neck. He should wake up, now, his senses warn him.  
But he doesn’t want to.  
He wants to see her dance again.  
But.  
The feeling is insistent.  
He has to wake up-  
“Who are you?” he says, his eyes still not adjusted to the darkness, his knife pushed under the stranger’s adam’s apple.  
One wrong word, false move…he’ll cut his throat.  
“Not an enemy.” A gruff voice replies, seeming not at all intimidated.  
His eyes having adjusted a bit, he recognizes the man from earlier in the day.  
“You.” He says.  
“Dongwook.” The man says, half a smile on his lips. “At your service…Jiyong.”  
\---  
Dongwook, Jiyong finds out, is a friend of Yang Hyun Suk.   
He goes by the name Seven, and is a member of the resistance.  
At first, Jiyong is reluctant to trust him but finds himself forced to when the man wipes the branding off, showing him it’s a fake.  
At any rate, though he is far from being convinced that this Dongwook character is who he claims to be, Jiyong decides that having a suspicious ally is better than having no ally at all.  
It also probably helps that Dongwook offers food.  
“So…” Jiyong says, chewing through his words. “How come we think there is no resistance in the city at all, anymore?”  
“Yang Suk knows of us, we work together, feed each other information. We go way back…”  
Jiyong swallows the big chunk of bread, helps wash it out with a sip of water.  
“That’s not what I asked, idiot. I said-“  
“I know exactly what you said, brat. I’m older than you, so have some respect. Aish, kids these days…”  
Jiyong glares at him, doesn’t bother answering.  
“Well?” he prompts, when the silence stretches long.  
Dongwook sighs.  
“For a long time, Yang Suk suspected a spy. He didn’t want to expose us as well.”  
Jiyong considers this.  
‘He didn’t even tell me’ he thinks, bitter.  
“We’ve got word of your little run down with authority, yesterday. You’re lucky I found you, even luckier to have escaped.”  
The heart misses a beat.  
“The others?” he asks. “Do you know what happened to them?”  
“The two men have been killed”, he says, his voice unapologetic.  
“And the kid?”  
Seungri.  
Dongwook frowns.  
“Missing”, is all he says.  
Jiyong just looks at him, unblinking.  
“Missing? What do you mean, missing?”  
“I mean just that. Missing. We don’t know. Stop with the questions, finish your meal, and follow me.”  
\---  
Jiyong follows.  
Seven leads him through the darkened streets into what looks like an abandoned building.  
The door is worn, yet looks strong.  
Seven knocks once, then thrice.  
A look hole opens up and a girl of Chaerin’s stature is standing there, peering suspiciously through squinted eyes.  
Seven nods at her, and the look hole closes just as suddenly as it opened. Jiyong hears bolts being drawn back, locks being unlocked, and then the door swings open, and he gets a better look at the girl.  
Her hair is black like the night, her eyes tired. She looks young, though her face betrays hardships beyond her years.  
“This is Minzy” Seven says, as he steps in.  
Jiyong follows him inside, bows to the girl because his mother taught him well.  
“I’m Jiyong.” He says.  
“We’ve been expecting you.”  
She closes the door.  
“Come on”, she says.  
He follows her through a narrow corridor, then even narrower stairs that lead to a basement.  
Seven is there, pushing a carpet to reveal a hatch under it.  
He opens it, and disappears in the darkness.  
Minzy follows, Jiyong right behind her.  
More stairs, the steps creaking under his weight.  
They arrive in a poorly lit room, bare with only some scattered chairs and an old round table in the middle.  
Two individuals are sitting in one corner, talking in hushed whispers.  
“Sit” Seven says.  
Jiyong does.  
The two men are staring at him, and Jiyong feels nervous, doesn’t know what to expect.  
“This is Jay Park” Seven says, pointing to the younger of the two. “And this is Teddy.”  
“Hello, kiddo”, Jay Park says, even though he doesn’t look that much older than Jiyong.  
And Teddy winks at him.  
Jiyong merely nods, somewhat annoyed.  
“I’m Jiyong” he says.  
Seven coughs, effectively claiming attention.  
“Now that we got the introductions out of the way, let’s get to business. Jiyong, have you ever heard of D-LITE?”  
Back at the camp, they were always on update. Every time a new recruit would join or a member would come back from a mission, they’d bring news from the city, how the other countries were flaring, what new rules or restrictions the government made…things like that.  
That’s how Jiyong first heard of D-LITE.  
D-LITE was from Gwangju, a peasant’s son whose parents refused to take the mark. At the matter of fact, though the city was small, its people were proud and honest folks who decided to stand as a united front against the new regulations. So Gwangju was something of a pain in the ass for the government, especially as it soon became the destination of many rebels, an impromptu headquarter for the Revolution Movement.  
Jiyong remembers how Yang Suk used to say he found it suspicious the government never took any direct action against such outspoken defiance, whenever Jiyong, who was fifteen at the time, would ask him to go join the people of Gwangju.  
“Never doubt me” Yang Suk told Jiyong the day they got wind of what happened in Gwangju.  
The reason the government never took action wasn’t because they couldn’t. It was because they wanted to destroy not only the people living there but also all of the revolutionaries who’d join them, using the headquarter as a sort of mousetrap.  
Gwangju, its people, the refugees, the rebels…all was obliterated.  
And there, in the ruins, stood one person. The boy who orchestrated the whole thing, who betrayed his hometown, his family, who sold out to the government even at the price of his parents lives…D-LITE.  
That was a few months ago. Since then, no one heard of his whereabouts. There are rumors about him joining the WPK’s headquarter in Gangnam, but there is also talk about him being sent by the government to Malaysia to help direct the Korean branch over there. No one knows for sure.   
No one knows his real name… but everyone knows of him.   
At Gangnam, where most high ranked officers and high society people reside, his name is chanted as a hero. Everywhere else, he is a traitor.  
“What about him?” Jiyong merely asks.  
“We have him.”   
\---  
Jiyong is not a coward.  
He isn’t.  
He’s not having second thoughts, he’s not backing off. He’s just taking some time to think things through, that’s all.  
All of this is so sudden, really.   
Two days ago, he was still at the hiding camp, with the people he’d known his entire life, the people who helped him when his mother died. With Yang Suk who took him under his wing, taught him how to survive, how to escape.  
And now, he’s in a foreign bed in some foreign house, with people he still hasn’t decided whether he trusts or not, right in the middle of the slum area, of all places, trying to make sense of the conversation that took place earlier in the day.  
“We need you” Seven had told him, and for some reason, Jiyong can recall that girl, Minzy, staring at him with such hopeful eyes.  
What they want him to do: Incorporate D-LITE’s identity, go to Gangnam, present himself to the higher ups, offer his services as official follower of the cause, gain everyone’s trust. In one word, they want him to spy.  
What he wants to do: curl up in a corner and wait for Yang Suk to come get him.  
His mind is reeling, his brain a foggy mess. He wants to sleep, but no, he wants to think. He needs to make a decision.  
Still, even as he listens to the erratic thump-thump of his heart, even as he can admit quietly, only to himself and just this once, that he is scared shitless…he already knows what his answer will be.  
\---  
“I’m in.”  
And his voice doesn’t even shake.  
\---  
Seven admits to have personally tortured the information out of D-LITE. All that Jiyong has left to do is learn it.   
“No mistake is allowed” Seven stresses, “It’s your life, at stake.”  
Jiyong sighs because, Goddamn it, he knows that.  
Teddy turns out to be an alright fellow, with a sick sense of humor.  
He’s the one responsible of Jiyong’s formation, while Jay Park will take care of forging the ID papers.   
“You’ll keep your full name”, Jay Park tells him, “Since no one knows of his real name, not even his contact within the government, and the guy is dead. I’ll forge your birthday, your origin, and such…”  
“What was your mom’s name?” Teddy would ask at breakfast.  
“Cheh-eun”, Jiyong answers with his mouth full.   
“Your father’s name?”  
“Jung Hun. And Teddy, I’m eating.”  
“Don’t care. “Who was your contact from the WPK?”  
“Xia Junsu.”  
“Where is he?”  
“He died in a mission in Afghanistan.”  
Minzy is a sweet girl. She has a soft quality to her eyes, and her smile gives him courage. If he had a sister, he’d want her to be like her. Also, she might not look it, but she’s wicked at hand to hand combat. Her lithe body moves swift and her grip is strong. Jiyong doesn’t even feel ashamed letting her teach him some fighting moves.  
“When were you born?”  
“April 26, 1989.”  
It’s almost like a game, getting all the information to stick. It almost reminds him of a time, years and years and so long ago, when he used to go to school and learn lessons.  
He used to be good in school.  
“How many siblings do you have?” Teddy asks him the fifth day.  
“None.”  
Teddy glares.  
“Wrong, GD. One sister, Bora.”  
Jiyong smirks.  
“Nooo. Since she died in Gwangju, I have no siblings. And, Teddy?”  
Teddy laughs.  
“What?”  
Jiyong’s smirk grows wider.  
“It’s D-LITE, not GD.”  
Seven, who was standing right behind him, clears his throat, startling him.  
“You’re as ready as anyone can be”, he says.  
\---  
The Gangnam district and the Guryong slum are complete opposites.  
Somehow, even the air feels different and the sun shines brighter, in the Apgujeong area.  
The streets speak of ease, clean and spacious, and the stores are well decorated, inviting.  
Still, Jiyong would take Guryong over Gangnam any day.  
He takes a breath, deep, looks for his shaking resolve and holds on to it.  
He can do this.  
It takes him half an hour to find the building Seven told him about, recognizing it by the big sign “WPK”.  
It takes him another fifteen minutes to grab his courage with both hands, and enter through the majestic looking doors.  
Inside, two men stand, looking imposing in military attire and identical set faces.  
“I need to see General Choi”, he says simply, not bothering to greet them.  
One of the two officers nods, acknowledging his request, and gestures for him to follow.  
They go through a spacious hall, ascend through the elevators where the stoic officer taps on the twelfth floor.  
The elevator’s door opens to reveal yet another wide hallway.  
“Straight ahead”, the officer says, before the door closes on him.  
Right.  
Straight ahead.  
Every step is hard, he almost has to force his feet into moving.  
A deep breath, he counts to three.  
And knocks, just the once.  
“Come in”, a deep voice says.  
His hand shakes as he lifts it to turn the doorknob, and he promises himself this weakness is the last one he’ll allow to show.  
He schools his features carefully, and enters.  
The room is spacious, well lit with huge windows, but mostly bare of any decorations, aside from a big portrait of none other than Kim Jung-un hanging above a simple looking desk.  
Behind the desk, a dark haired man sits.  
The first thing that grabs Jiyong’s attention is how young the general looks. He can’t be older than thirty.  
The second thing is how handsome he looks, almost shockingly so, his eyes big and dark, boring into his.  
Jiyong closes the door, walks in long strides and takes the chair opposite the general, without being invited.  
“Confidence”, Seven had told him. “Exude confidence from every pore of your body, every move, every gesture… You are, after all, the great D-LITE ».  
So, head held high, Jiyong meets the general’s gaze, and says:   
“The name is D-LITE. I believe I was expected.”  
He feels a little shiver go down his spine, because the general takes his time asserting him, doesn’t bother answering .   
Then, says, his voice gruff:  
“You were expected. A week ago. What took you so long?”  
Jiyong smirks.  
“Let’s just say I got… delayed. I’m not very popular nowadays.”  
The general frowns.  
“Is that so?”  
Jiyong decides, there and then, that he doesn’t like him much. His eyes hold too much intelligence, his tone distrustful.  
As if to prove the point, the general immediately says: “Do you have any identification papers on you?”  
Jiyong groans internally.  
“I do “, he says, getting the forged papers out, praying to God that Jay Park didn’t do a lousy job.  
Choi examines the papers for a long time, and Jiyong can feel cold sweat on the back of his neck, his palms getting clammy.  
“You understand”, Choi says, his eyes still on the papers, “that this is regular procedure. I must make sure you are who you claim to be.”  
“Of course”, Jiyong says, voice unwavering, displaying confidence he doesn’t feel an ounce of, “be my guest.”  
Choi finally smiles, and Jiyong is surprised to see dimples.  
“Well”, he says, “everything seems to be in order. I am General Seughyun Choi. I am responsible for the entire branch here in Seoul and, as such, I would like to officially congratulate you on your heroic work at Gwangju. »  
Even though Choi is smiling, and his words seem kind, Jiyong doesn’t like the way he’s appraising him, the glint in his eyes.  
“Thank you, general Choi.”  
Choi nods.  
“You may call me Seunghyun. I will arrange for your room in Yong Dong Hotel, I hope the facilities will be to your liking. Also, I will arrange for a ceremony to welcome you properly; everyone’s been waiting to meet the great D-LITE. It will be held here, in this building, at eight. Be there.”  
“I will”, Jiyong says, and stands up, because he knows when he’s being dismissed.  
\---  
The ceremony is no small affair.   
Entering, Jiyong almost doesn’t recognize the place, though he was here only this morning.  
A different officer guides him to the great hall, and once he’s in, Jiyong is flooded by the lights, the extravagant decorations, the long tables with all kinds of food and delicacies, the soft music…and the people.  
In his luxurious hotel room, he found a suit waiting for him, and almost felt inadequate for the soft fabric, the rich design. Here though, he realizes wearing anything less would have been unbecoming.  
Eyes are on him, more than he can count on his first survey of the room. His hands are clammy from sweat and he wants to wipe them on his expensive pants, but that would mean admitting that he’s nervous.  
It would mean admitting that he doesn’t belong here, when really, he does.  
He has to.  
Colors almost blind his eyesight, everywhere he sets his gaze. Women with frilly dresses and men with sharp attires, Champaign glasses in their hands, are mingling, socializing, sitting in comfortable looking sofas scattered all over the room.  
Jiyong barely has time to take all of this in before a man stands up, looking straight at him, setting his glass down on the table in front of him.  
Now, in addition to the sweat on his hands, Jiyong can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He drops one of his hands to the pocket where his knife is hidden. He’s outnumbered, hopelessly so, but at least he’ll go down fighting.  
If he gets caught, right here and now, he’ll go down in the history books for being the least successful spy that ever was.  
The man standing up doesn’t point his finger at him, though. He doesn’t shout “imposter” or scream for the guards to take him. Instead, slowly, he brings his hands together, and it takes Jiyong a few seconds to realize the man is clapping.  
For him.  
For D-LITE.  
And not just that man, because the sound moves like a wave through the room, becoming honest applause. Suddenly, it’s okay for Jiyong to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants and to swipe his hand across his neck, because it looks like he’s being humble, overwhelmed by the response.  
And the stupid thing is, he kind of is.  
By the time the first overly powdered woman approaches him, Jiyong is breathing normally again.  
“An honor to meet you”, she says, her artificial eyelashes batting furiously.  
“Congratulations on a job well done”, a man he didn’t even see approaching tells him, shaking both his hands.  
“It is truly heartwarming to see that such a fine young man as yourself can discern right from wrong and join the cause, despite his own family’s ignorance.”  
And it goes on and on and on. All those rich people who know nothing, nothing, of what goes on around, in Korea, in the world, come to shake his hands, to tell him he is a pride to the nation, and honestly, Jiyong doesn’t get it.  
Here he is, supposedly a traitor to his hometown, the murderer of his own parents, his little sister…and these people think he did something good?  
His cheeks hurt from smiling. Taking the compliments leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  
He reminds himself, over and over, that this is not him. These things they say he did, it’s not him.  
It could never be.  
Yet, this is who he is now. This is who he must be.  
It takes a moment for the commotion his presence caused to calm down, everyone going back to what they were doing.   
Jiyong sweeps the room with his eyes, and then.  
It happens so fast, comes so strong, he barely controls his features not to betray the utter shock he’s feeling.  
Over there, right at the back, smiling and laughing, like he belongs here, stands Seungri.  
Their eyes meet, the moment suspended in time, a million thoughts running wild through Jiyong’s mind, incoherent what why is he a spy too what that’s Seungri am I awake am I asleep he’s okay he’s not dead but how what why-  
-And Seungri smirks.  
“You look like you saw a ghost”, a voice startles him from behind.  
Quickly, Jiyong schools his features into an indifferent scowl.  
“Seunghyun”, he nods in greeting.  
The other smiles.  
“You were staring at the Supreme Ruler’s son. Have you met yet, or would you like me to introduce you?”  
There is something…something in the way Seughyun says this, overly detached but eyes draped on him, analyzing his features, his reactions.  
“The Supreme Ruler’s son?” Jiyong asks, an overwhelming apprehension taking over him.  
Seunghyun stares and stares, his hand lifting slowly, pointing one finger.  
Jiyong doesn’t want to turn, see who he means.  
But he has to, even as he knows already. It would look too suspicious if he doesn’t.  
So, slowly as well, he turns his gaze, follows the pointing finger, and sees Seungri.  
Kim Jong-un’s son.  
\---  
He wakes up, but leaves his eyes closed.

For a few moments, he thinks it’s all been a dream. He only feels a draft because Tablo, bastard, left the window open. The bed is comfortable because Yang Suk took pity of him and let him borrow the only decent bed they have at the camp. For a few moments, he’s sure that Chaerin and Park Bom are putting together a nice breakfast, and that Yongbae is waiting for him to wake up because it’s been a while since they spoke to each other.

Then, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes.

He’s in his hotel room.   
He moves his head and finds a crumbled piece of paper on his pillow, right where his head lay a second ago.  
He opens it.  
“Disappear and I won’t tell. Stay and you’ll reap the consequences.”  
Seungri, he thinks.  
And everything that happened yesterday comes crashing back, everything he didn’t let himself feel, the experience so intense it steals his breath away, leaves him panting for air.  
Seungri, the Supreme Ruler’s son.  
All this time…Seungri was the spy, wasn’t he?   
All this time, at the camp. He had them fooled, didn’t he? He had Jiyong fooled, like the big stupid idiot he is.  
Jiyong tries to recall everything he knew about Seungri, sees it so clearly now, the way the boy used to evade questions. He’d known him for what? Two years? And he was always by his side, he idolized him…or did he?   
Maybe none of it was true, and Seungri was the best actor there ever was, and Jiyong the biggest moron there ever was. He stayed with him because Jiyong was Yang Suk’s protégé, didn’t he? The surest way to get information.  
Jiyong laughs from the absurdity of all of this.  
It takes him a while to calm down, and when he does, he’s furious.   
At Seungri, for being a fake asshole.   
At Yang Suk, for not finding him.   
At Seven, for sending him to meet his early death.   
But mostly, at himself, for being so weak.  
No more, he promises himself. Just…no more.  
The threatening note is still crumbled in his hand, he realizes.  
He should probably be freaking out, now. He should be scared. After all, Seungri knows exactly who he is and, more importantly, who he is not.  
For some reason, though, Jiyong doesn’t care. He has this feeling that Seungri won’t tell on him so soon. After all, if he wanted to unmask him, why would he bother sending him the message?  
\---  
The confrontation comes a lot sooner than he anticipated.  
He is back at the WPK building, after a soldier was sent to fetch him from his hotel room, waiting to meet up with Seughyun, when he sees him.  
Seungri.  
Looking well groomed and all proper, in simple jeans and a button down shirt.   
Their eyes clash, and he doesn’t look away.  
Apart from them, the room where he was asked to wait is empty.   
Seungri beckons him to follow, and he does, lets him lead him through corridors to an empty room.  
Seungri has barely closed the door when Jiyong makes a grab for his collar, his hands gripping the fabric, pushing the body against the door.  
“Hyung”, Seungri gasps, “you’re chocking me.”  
There are mere centimeters between their bodies, their faces a breath away.  
For some reason, Jiyong’s pulse quickens.  
Seungri looks the same, if cleaner. His eyes are the same, his long eyelashes the same, his face the same. His lips look the same.  
Yet, he isn’t the Seungri he knows, the Seungri he thought he knew.  
“Let go.” Seungri says.  
And Jiyong does, pushes away from him, suddenly tired, exhausted.  
“Don’t call me that”, he says.  
Seungri just looks at him, stares and stares and stares.  
“Hyung” he says, as if to defy him.  
Jiyong doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t.  
“You are the spy”, is what he settles for.  
Seungri chuckles.  
“No, you are. What are you even doing here, hyung? Are you out of your mind? Did you think- what? That you’d just come parading here, with your fake name and hidden motives, and somehow have no one doubt you? You’re playing with fire. Seughyun isn’t a general for his looks, you know; he’ll never trust you.”  
“Too late, Seungri”, Jiyong hisses. “He already does.”  
Seungri shakes his head.  
“Hyung, you’re getting yourself in so much trouble, you don’t even know. Cut your losses, and go. Just leave, before they find out, before they-“  
“What’s it to you?” Jiyong asks, fed up with the conversation. “Why would you even care? Actually, what are you doing here, talking to me, when you could be running to tell Seunghyun like the little two timing asshole you are, or better yet, to your dear daddy, huh? Why do you even care? Why are you-“  
“I don’t know, okay!”  
The outburst startles Jiyong out of his tirade.   
Seungri’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine bright, and Jiyong can almost see his own reflection in their moist sparkle.  
“I just…don’t know”, Seungri says, his voice quieter, his eyes earnest. “All I know is that I missed you, hyung. All I know is that I don’t want you dead, hyung. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I never faked who I was when I was with you. I know I tricked you, but I never wanted things to be this way. You have to believe me. I wasn’t acting like a spy. That day, two years ago, I was in that fire by mistake. I thought it was over for me, but then you came, and you saved me. In more ways than you could ever imagine. I didn’t even tell them about the camp, I swear to you, hyung. But you know who my father is, I have a position to maintain, and my rank doesn’t guarantee me any special treatment. I’ll have to tell on you, hyung. You have to leave, I can’t…I can’t…I can’t –“  
Seungri seems overwhelmed, chocking on his words, not finding the right ones to say.  
There are no right words, Jiyong would tell him if he could find his voice. There is nothing to say.   
They’re on opposite sides, that is all.  
“And I can’t leave. I have a mission to see to end.” He says, quietly, quietly, his voice betraying nothing of the turmoil of feelings inside.”Do what you must, as I will.”  
He turns to leave the room, but a hand grabs him, the grip strong.  
“Wha-?”  
A kiss silences him, forceful and unforgiving.  
Seungri’s lips aren’t soft. They’re dry and hard but, God, if it isn’t the best feeling he ever experienced.  
A need he never suspected within him rises to the surface, wipes everything in its midst, leaving him breathless, aching, wanting.  
He gives as good as he takes, their tongues fighting for dominance, their saliva mingling, and that in itself is so arousing Jiyong feels the heat burn in his lower regions, his hands shaking as he takes fistfuls of Seungri’s hair, draws him close, closer.   
“Ugh…hyung.”  
The sound is guttural, bestial. Without his consent, a moan escapes his lips, his body a mess of pure need.  
He is so lost in the heat that he doesn’t notice that Seungri has managed to strip him from his shirt and is surprised to see his hands has made quick work of Seungri’s clothing as well, until they’re both down to nearly nothing, and clinging to each other, struggling on the floor.  
Seungri encircles a nipple between his teeth, and the pleasure is so intense Jiyong moans again, closes his eyes, feels.  
The force of the feeling takes over him, he loses control. He pushes Seungri on the ground, nestles between his legs and pulls at his boxers. Seungri barely has time to whisper another needy “hyung” before Jiyong is inside, pushing against him.  
Seungri cries out in pain, and Jiyong spares a thought to consider that he probably should have prepped him first. But he’s too far gone, and Seungri isn’t complaining. He’s bearing it, the pain, his eyes closed tight.  
“Easy”, Jiyong says, not moving.  
“Hyung, move” Seungri says, and that’s all the encouragement Jiyong needs, thrusts into him without rhythm, desperate.  
Seungri moans, closes his eyes, pushes against him, and Jiyong wishes for time to stop, right here and now.  
“Hyung, hyung, hyung, hyung”, and that string of words, whispered closely to his ear, is probably what takes him over the edge.  
\---  
It takes him a while to find the room, and when he does, Seughyun is waiting for him, flanked by two soldiers, tall and dark and apish in build.  
“Got lost?” is the first thing Seunghyun tells him.  
Jiyong shrugs.  
“I was exploring the place”, he says, past the point of caring.  
Seughyun frowns.  
“Take a seat”, he says.  
He does, and Seughyun slides into the seat across the table and leans forward in a conspiratorial manner.  
Seughyun doesn’t speak at first, just stares, and as he does, Jiyong tries not to twitch in his seat, because he might have been lying just a bit when he told Seungri that Seughyun already trusts him.  
Because he doesn’t.  
Not at all.  
At least, that’s the feeling that Jiyong’s been getting from Seughyun, since the first meeting.  
His eyes on him, unblinking. They just stare and stare and stare and Jiyong can’t allow himself to look away; this is one test he can’t afford to fail.  
“Let’s make this quick” Seughyun says too many moments later, finally looking away. “I have a closed meeting later.”  
Jiyong shrugs.  
“You’ve helped destroy your entire city”, he continues, “ then roamed the Korean grounds, without being captured by our many enemies, and got yourself safely to the heart of Seoul.”  
A lengthy pause.  
Jiyong raises an eyebrow, but keeps silent, partly because he hasn’t be asked any questions to answer, and partly because his tongue feels like a dead weight in his mouth, he doesn’t trust it to say the right thing.  
“I would say Bravo, D-LITE, except that I don’t trust you.”  
Jiyong wants to close his eyes, draw in a deep breath.  
He doesn’t.  
“You know what I wonder, Jiyong? I wonder why you’d choose our cause over the lives of all those close to you.”  
“They didn’t get it”, Jiyong says slowly. Seven told him that he sounds more believable when he speaks slowly. Also, he’s less likely to slip up. “I didn’t want them dead, but they were a necessary sacrifice, for the better good. Their deaths, as well as the death of all those against the new regulations, are the first step to help our Ruler convince the world of the nobility of his ways, the rightness of his thinking.”  
He thinks he sounds awful and earnest, but still, still, Seughyun doesn’t look convinced.  
Jiyong leans forward, until only Seughyun can hear his words.  
“I’ve given up my life for this cause. I passed on what information I could, got my hometown demolished, my parents killed, my sister slaughtered. Have I played the government false yet? Have I?”  
Seughyun doesn’t answer first. He stands up, pushes his chair in, and says:  
“The thing about traitors, Jiyong, is how addicted they get to treachery.”  
Jiyong stares defiantly.  
“Then I’ll prove it to you, that you can trust me.”  
Fucking asshole, he adds, only in his mind.  
Seughyun snorts.  
“We’ll see” he says. “For now, I must leave you, I have a closed meeting.”  
Jiyong stands up.  
The two soldiers stand in his way, a barrier to keep him from following. Jiyong, calmly, circles around the human obstacle.   
“Where do you think you’re going?” Seughyun asks.   
“Whether you believe me or not, is your issue, Seughyun” Jiyong says, “I have every right to be in that confidential meeting, so”, and here, he smirks, “lead the way, General.”  
\---  
Jiyong feels smug.  
He can’t help it.  
He’s sitting in the conference room, right next to Seughyun who can’t seem to wipe the scowl from his face.  
The conference room is wide, a big rectangular table sitting right in the middle, most of the chairs occupied.  
Jiyong clenches h glass of water in front of him, and locks his eyes on the person sitting across from him.  
He stares defiantly at him, his eyes say I dare you, and Seungri glares.   
They keep at it till Seungri looks away first, and Jiyong, feeling even smugger, takes his time to assert the other officials present.   
He barely recognizes some faces, authority figures he’d seen now and then on TV, when he still had access to one.  
A man in his sixties clears his throat. He has an air of seriousness about him, his face wrinkled.  
“The reason we’re gathered here, today” he begins, “ is to address an issue that is slowly getting out of hand. They call themselves the Revolution movement, and are growing , both in strength and in numbers.”  
Seungri’s eyes meet his again, a warning in them, but Jiyong ignores him.  
“What they’ve been ignoring for a while now, but are beginning to discover is that similar organizations are taking shape all over the world, refusing to abide by our laws. In Europe, many attempts at revolution have already emerged and been, as you all well know, successfully shut down. However, there is a suspected network that goes all over the world, providing such terrorists updates of the status of these organizations. You can all imagine how dangerous such a leek could be, I am sure. Knowing that they have allies in all kinds of places in the world gives these people hope, the will to fight. There has been talk amongst our local spies of a revolution of high scale stirring, not only within the outlaws, but also at the heart of the population, here in Gangnam. Even citizens who are branded, and as such, are obliged to abide by the Rules, are now being suspected of treason. After much consideration, here are the Supreme Ruler’s orders: Public executions. The leaders of the revolution go first, and then…everyone else.”  
Just like that.  
A death verdict.  
Jiyong is not sure he’s masking his horror stricken face with an appropriately indifferent expression, but he can’t help it.  
And as his eyes meet Seungri’s for the third time, as he can see that Seungri isn’t completely okay with this either, as the head of the meeting goes on and on about how fundamental it is to kill the rise up, here, where it is the most relevant, the closest to the core of the new regime, to dissuade the other nations of pursuing their rebellious actions, as Seughyun smirks and says in a self important voice that he’ll “ personally take care of it”…As the world goes foggy and his hearing turns mute, Jiyong breathes.  
He concentrates on that, keeping his heart steady, not thinking about how he is surely the wrong man for this mission, because here it is, he’s on the inside, he has the information…but, for the life of him, doesn’t know what to do with it.  
That day, when he goes back to his room, exhausted and scared and confused and alarmed, he finds a note.  
“Leave.”  
\---  
He feels eyes on him.  
Maybe he’s being paranoid, maybe not.  
Maybe this is suicide, sneaking out of the hotel room in the middle of the night to run all the way to the Guryong slum.  
Maybe he doesn’t have a choice.  
When he gets to the building, he’s out of breath.  
He taps once. Then thrice.  
The look hole opens, Minzy ‘s eyes grow wide behind it.  
She lets him in, and he makes a grab for her hand.  
“Where is Seven?”  
“Downstairs”, she says, looking alarmed. “What’s going on? Jiyong?”  
But he’s already running through the corridors, going through the hatch.  
Downstairs, he finds Seven, Teddy, Jay Park and-  
-Hyun Suk.  
He doesn’t realize he’s moved till he has him in a tight hug.  
“Hey, kiddo.” The man says, and Jiyong wants to laugh, wants to cry.  
He tells them everything, and when he’s done, it feels like a weight has been lifted. He has done his part, now it’s their turn.  
“It’s bigger than you think”, Yang Suk tells him. “We had wind of the movement in Europe, but it goes beyond that. Even if they go through with it, this is just starting. Don’t worry Jiyong.”  
But Jiyong worries.  
He worries as he trudges his way back to his hotel.  
He worries as he puts his head on the pillow.  
And he worries even in his dreams that night, dark and foreboding.  
\---  
The next morning, he wakes up to find two officers in his room.  
“Get dressed. General Choi is asking for you.”  
The moment of truth.  
He sets his face in a stern frown. Come what may, he thinks.   
And follows.  
“Good morning”, Seughyun says when he sees him, abnormally chipper.  
“Good morning”, he answers.  
And feels his shoulders sag from relief, because that must mean he wasn’t followed yesterday, right?  
He hasn’t been found out.  
“I want to show you something”, Seughyun says. “Come on”.  
They go outside, where a car waits.  
Jiyong notices how the two guards who escorted him in the morning are following his every step, almost flanking his sides.  
“Get in,” Seughyun says.  
Before he boards, though, a voice halts them.  
“Wait.”  
It’s Seungri, looking pale, his eyes haggard.  
“General Choi, where are you going?” he asks.  
Seughyun smirks.  
“Seungri”, he says, bowing.  
“I want to show Jiyong something. I believe you have no objections?”  
An awkward silence.  
Seungri smiles, but Jiyong can see it’s fake.  
He wonders what’s going on, and for some reason, his heart starts beating fast.  
“None”, Seungri finally says. “But I’d like to barrow Jiyong for a word.”  
“By all means” Seughyun says.  
Seungri takes him to the side, and Jiyong can see how the two officers keep a short distance.  
“Hyung”, Seungri whispers, his voice shaking.  
He takes his hand in his, squeezes it.  
“I’ll come for you, hyung. I will.”  
The feeling he’s been having since he woke up amplifies.   
He’s in trouble.  
“What’s going on?” he asks.  
“Enough.” Seughyun’s voice interrupts. “We’re running late, let’s go.”  
Seungri squeezes his hand one last time, his eyes conveying a message Jiyong doesn’t know how to read.  
They get in the car.  
\---  
The car halts near the Gangnam subway station.  
Jiyong hops off, and the breath is stolen from him.  
\---  
He walks the streets, smells the stale air, looks at the bodies littering the floor.  
His steps are steady, his heart rate regular, his eyes are of steal.  
He feels his companion’s eyes on him, calculating, boring into his soul as if trying to see.  
“I see that you know how to do your job, general.”  
The other smirks.  
“Does this displease you, Jiyong?”  
He smiles.  
“Why would it?” he asks. “The resistance must be shut down, no matter the price.”  
He doesn’t know how he’s maintaining his façade when, in truth, the sight leaves a horrid taste at the back of his mouth, an urge to throw up chocking him.  
“You haven’t even seen the main event, yet” Seughyun says, his eyes glinting.  
They pass Skin Food, a skincare and cosmetics manufacturer, round the corner, and that’s when Jiyong sees it.  
A crowd of soldiers, cheering, clapping, roaring and, right in the middle…  
No, Jiyong thinks.  
His face must betray him, because Seughyun laughs.  
Hyun Suk.  
Hanging there, in the middle, for all to see.  
Not lifeless, no, because he’s still struggling with the ropes, his face swollen red, his eyes bulging from their sockets.  
“No” Jiyong says.  
His feet move on their own, but he’s being restrained, hands keeping him in place.  
He struggles with all his forces, but to no avail.  
He can only stand there, watch in disbelieving horror.  
It feels like he’s watching his whole world fall apart, and all he can do is stare blankly, realizing that this must be the loneliest moment in his entire life, because it’s Hyun Suk.  
It’s Hyun Suk, and he’s dying, and there is nothing Jiyong can do.  
Seughyun makes him watch the whole thing, down to the final gurgles of the dying man, till Jiyong wants to die too, just fucking make it stop.  
Finally, finally, when it’s all over, Seughyun turns to him.  
“For you, I reserve something special.”  
\---  
He chokes.  
He chokes.  
Water in his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth.  
In his lungs.  
In a fuzzy blur, he thinks he can recognize Seungri’s voice screaming his name, somewhere in the distance.  
Is this the end?  
\----Fin--- 

 

 

 

.


End file.
